


Duggan

by MrProphet



Category: Sarah Jane Adventures
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-22
Updated: 2017-04-22
Packaged: 2018-10-22 12:26:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10696989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrProphet/pseuds/MrProphet





	Duggan

Sarah Jane Smith was enjoying herself for once; she just hoped that Maria and Luke were as well. They had gone off with Alan to look at Notre Dame de Paris and see if any of the gargoyles could be coaxed into song – well, that was Alan’s story anyway – but Sarah Jane had bad memories of the cathedral and had opted to spend the morning in the Louvre. The guides had made a great deal of the sheer range and number of artefacts on display, but Sarah Jane could not resist being a bit of a tourist.

“She’s quite something, isn’t she?”

Sarah Jane turned to look at the man at her shoulder. He looked to be about her own age and in good shape for it.

“I was worried that I was just doing what everyone else does when they come to the Louvre,” she admitted, “but it really is extraordinary.” She gazed at the small, dark painting; even held away from it by all of the security arrangements she could see that the  _Mona Lisa_  was something special. “It’s a shame about the glass; it would be wonderful to see it up close.”

“Oh, it is,” the man agreed.

“You’ve seen it?” Sarah Jane asked. “Do you work here?”

“I’m more of a consultant; semi-retired.” The man held out his hand. “Bill Duggan,” he said with a smile.

“Sarah Jane Smith,” she replied, shaking his hand warmly. “Pleased to meet you, Mr Duggan.”

“Likewise, Miss Smith,” Duggan agreed.

“And how do you know it’s not Mrs Smith?” Sarah Jane challenged.

“No wedding ring,” he explained, “nor any sign you’d ever worn one. You could be a Ms, but you looked more old-fashioned than that, and I don’t mean that as an insult in any way,” he added quickly.

“I don’t take it as one,” she assured him. “So; speaking as one myself, you don’t look much like a journalist,” she noted. “Given that show of deduction then, when you say ‘consultant’, you mean detective?”

“Retired. Sort of.”

“Ah; sort of retired. I know that kind of job; the ones that never quite let you go. Speaking of which…” she looked pointedly at her hand, which was still held in his.

“Sorry,” he said with a self-deprecating laugh. “I was just fascinated by your watch. It seems to be… pulsing.”

Sarah Jane glanced at her wrist scanner. It was indeed pulsing rather insistently. “Oh, I… I have to go and meet… someone,” she offered lamely. “Perhaps we’ll bump into one another again, Mr Duggan.”

“Perhaps we will,” he agreed. “I hope so. Nice meeting you, Sarah Jane.”

“And you… Bill.” Sarah Jane reluctantly pulled herself away and hurried to the ladies’, where she was able to examine the readouts from the energy signature which her scanner had detected. By cross-referencing with her guide book, she was able to discover that a powerful energy field was being emitted from something in a temporary exhibit.

The sign at the door of the temporary exhibit showed a picture of its centrepiece; Edvard Munch’s  _The Scream_. Sarah Jane bought a ticket and went in.  _The Scream_  stood at the centre of the room, all flaming sky and angst and surrounded by a great press of people. It sent a shiver down her spine just looking at it.

“That’s the oldest known version of the painting, on loan from the National Museum of Norway. There’s a more recent version – also by Munch – at the Munch Museum,” Duggan told her.

“You certainly know your stuff,” Sarah Jane commended him. “I wasn’t expecting to see you again so soon,” she added.

“Well, I’ve always dealt with the art world, and I was in the neighbourhood,” he quipped. “Anyway, I suspect we might share an interest. What does your scanner tell you about the painting?”

“My… what?” Sarah Jane asked.

Duggan smiled. “We have a few contacts in common, Miss Smith, but you’re a lot more famous than I am. Anyway, it’s not the first time I’ve seen someone using alien detection equipment in the Louvre,” he assured her. “Last time they were stealing the  _Mona Lisa_.”

“Trying to, you mean.”

“No, they succeeded. The one in the gallery’s a copy,” he added in a whisper. “Now, what about  _The Scream_?”

After a moment’s hesitation, Sarah Jane opened her scanner. “It’s emitting a powerful energy field,” she explained. “Like there’s something inside the canvas.”

“Cardboard,” Duggan corrected. “ _The Scream_  isn’t painted on canvas. Did you ever hear about the attempted theft?”

“I thought that attempt had succeeded,” Sarah Jane noted.

“Well, this one was stolen, and the other, but both were recovered and another attempt on this original was made just a few years ago. The thief killed two guards, lifted the painting off the wall and then ran away screaming into the night. Another guard gave chase and claimed that the man simply vanished into thin air behind a pillar.”

“How very Harry Lime,” Sarah Jane noted.

“And ever since then, there have been incidents of violence associated with the painting,” Duggan finished. “Attempted thefts or just plain old-fashioned punch-ups. I’d stay back a bit if I were you,” he added.

“The crowd is getting a little… restless,” Sarah Jane noted.

“It’s happened every day for a week; worse every time. A fight broke out last time but…”

Sarah Jane’s scanner began to pulse urgently. “It’s certainly building up to something,” she noted. “Something…”

As one, almost the entire crowd took a step backwards at the sound of a terrible, infinite scream. Duggan clapped his hands over his ears, but Sarah Jane knew a psychic cry when she heard one; or didn’t.

 _Almost_  the entire crowd stepped backward; a woman at the very front of the crowd stayed where she was, staring at the painting as though she could not tear her eyes from it. As the cry faded she turned, and her eyes blazed fiercely in stark contrast to her chic trouser suit and elegantly coifed, dark hair.

“Well, that can’t be good,” Duggan said.

“The energy reading is shifting; a part of… whatever it is has inhabited that woman,” Sarah Jane explained.

A large man in a dark suit advanced to the woman’s side. “Are you alright, Madame?” he asked.

The woman turned to him with a sneer. She caught him, one-handed by the front of his jacket, and flung him away, bowling over almost a dozen of the onlookers. Two more men in similar costume went the same way, leaving much of the crowd groaning on the floor. Those still on their feet panicked and ran.

Duggan caught hold of Sarah Jane’s arm and drew her back against the wall, inadvertently triggering the alarms. “What’s happening?” he demanded.

“She’s possessed,” Sarah Jane repeated. “By something that is trying to escape from that painting.”

“And how do we get it back?” Duggan wondered.

“We need to jar it out of her,” Sarah Jane told him. “I think I can shake it loose with my sonic lipstick, then you knock her down before it can get a grip again.”

“Knock her down?” Duggan asked. “But she’s…”

“Oh, for goodness sake!” Sarah Jane exclaimed. “Heaven save us from old-fashioned thinking. Just do it.” So saying, she moved across in front of the woman, who was walking with a slow, awkward gait in the wake of the fleeing mob. “That’s far enough,” she warned, and took aim with her sonic lipstick.

The sonic blast made the woman halt in her tracks, her body shivering back and forth as the original mind and the possessing force battled for control.

“Now!” Sarah Jane cried.

To his credit, Duggan rose to the moment. He stepped forward and delivered a right cross to the woman’s jaw that would not have shamed a prize fighter. She went down like a British heavyweight and, with another scream, the force was sucked back into the painting.

“Good work, Mr Duggan,” Sarah Jane said. She checked her scanner. “The force is back in the painting and dormant again,” she confirmed.

“Right; then we should probably go,” Duggan suggested. “The French may have given us the phrase laissez faire, but that hardly expresses their attitude to people who punch the First Lady in the face.”

Sarah Jane looked down at the supine form on the floor. “I thought she looked familiar,” she mused. “Perhaps you’re right,” she agreed. “Let’s follow the rest of the crowd.”

“And pretend to have been hit by a flying bodyguard.”

*

They only slowed down when they got back to the Salle des États and paused to look at the Mona Lisa again while they waited for security to clear them out of the building.

“That was a good punch,” Sarah Jane told him.

“Maybe the second most important of my life,” Duggan replied.

“Is that really a copy?” Sarah Jane asked. “And how does nobody know that the Mona Lisa in the Louvre wasn’t painted by Leonardo da Vinci.”

“Oh, I never said that,” Duggan assured her. “It’s a copy  _by Leonardo_. A friend of mine has the original; slightly singed, but nonetheless beautiful.”

“How can you be so sure this one is the copy?”

“Not  _the_  copy,” Duggan laughed. “Just  _a_  copy. Leonardo made six copies under duress. You can always tell the copies; they have ‘this is a fake’ written under the paintwork in black felt tip.”

“Ladies and gentlemen!” a guard called out. “This is a security drill; please leave the building as quickly as possible.”

“Felt tip?” Sarah Jane was sceptical. “But if they were painted by Leonardo that’s impossible.”

Duggan shrugged. “Some might say that my friend was impossible,” he admitted. He half turned and offered his elbow.

Sarah Jane smiled and slipped her arm through his. “You know,” she said, “I think I might know him.”

“Somehow I thought you might.”


End file.
